Still There, But Not Really
by redcheese
Summary: Spoilers for Manga Chapter 423.   Oneshot: Rukia's perspective on the painful dichotomy of existing unseen.


It's been _really_ long, hope you guys are doing ok.

I've decided to take Rukia's perspective. I thought it would be interesting, for me at least. If you haven't read manga chapter 423, this could be a major spoiler. Beware and enjoy.

* * *

><p><span>Still There, But Not Really<span>

The month was a long one, Rukia observed.

There were so many things to do. Seireitei hummed with activity; a stale vacuum filling itself with eager air. Work was overwhelming, possibly even more so than before. Overdue reports to rush, new ones to dread, meetings to attend, duties of the incapacitated to cover.

Aizen had fallen, but Yamamoto was as always determined to impede all forms of celebration (especially rowdy sake parties, much to the dismay of many).

Each day fell to routine. She would spend mornings in one of the many boardrooms, late nights in her office tackling never-ending paperwork. Sneak some sake from the many secret stashes or sneak home late from Rukongai izakayas. The next day, slightly hung-over, she would head to the hills to train or chat or both with the same old, same old fellas.

And then there was Ichigo, with whom it all began. He looked like he was asleep. Well, he wasn't, not really. After a few visits, though, it became easier to think of him that way.

The first time she visited was at midnight (she had filed all her paperwork), climbing in through his window. His reiatsu spilled forth steadily, inevitably. There was too much of it; it lifted the ends of her hair, filled the room with warmth and her, inexplicable sadness.

He would be hit so hard if he ever moped around like that. So would she, but soon he wasn't even going to be able to see her, and that was Fact. Deal with it.

She rested her hand on his chest, over the thin line that she had etched on his heart. They never touched except in jest or collaborative combat, but he wouldn't need to know that she did this. It felt as if she was putting a hand under a spigot that was permanently jammed open. Under her palm, she could feel his bond to the Spirit World flowing out and away. Urahara wasn't able to fix him. It wasn't his place to interfere within the soul, even though he so often meddled. Not to this extent

This, too, was Fact.

Deal with it.

...

A week or two into the coma his reiatsu flow thinner to a trickle, and he sat up straight sometime in the afternoon.

"Eh? Is this my house?"

No one else really knew what to say, so she went into work-mode. All technical and matter-of-fact as she delivered an information overload that she knew he needed.

"In due time, the remainder of your reiatsu will disappear."

She was always proud of how he took really bad news, especially when it was about his own well-being (or lack thereof). No denial, no freaking out. He would always have that look on his face, his eyes saying that that he'd damn well get over it, whatever it was. He'd chew it up and spit it out.

Right now, the bad news was that his world was falling apart. It had happened many times before, they all knew. But this just wasn't the same.

He wanted to go outside.

She knew that he felt her fading; there was desperation in his eyes, his eyes that couldn't focus on someone whom he could barely see. It was like trying to run across the massive sand dunes in Hueco Mundo, trying to gain traction but always, always slipping downwards.

"This is farewell, Ichigo."

For once, his emotions were written in plain sight. She laughed, but not out of joy.

"Don't look so sad. Even though you can no longer see me, I can still see you."

He mumbled evasively and couldn't meet her eyes. But after a second he did, and couldn't look away. As if he realised that this would probably be the last chance he had to look at her, opaque or not.

They stepped towards each other, almost in an embrace. Just without the arms around, and all that. It was an embrace that couldn't possibly happen because it could never last long enough.

"Tell everyone I give them my best."

He could see right through her eyes; a soft, diluted violet. The palest shade of lilac.

And then she was gone.

...

Of course, Rukia was still there. But not really.

It was hard to know that he couldn't actually see her even though he was looking right at her, looking for any inch of her. She whispered a quick goodbye to the others, and could hardly bear it when she realised that he could no longer hear her, either.

When everyone had gone, she climbed into his window again and found him sitting on his bed with his head in his hands. It was like being on regular patrol duty, she thought, easing herself into the half-open cupboard door, pulling her knees to her chin.

Rukia shut her eyes to him just as he looked towards the cupboard. Not seeing - remembering.

Both in the same room and worlds of awareness apart.

* * *

><p>End.<p> 


End file.
